Del Norte People: Remembering boat that went the wrong way

By Chuck Blackburn October 13, 2011 06:32 pm

As we grow older I think that we look at our life’s experiences a little differently than in our younger years.

I have had a chance to reflect more on the unbelieveable experiences of coming out west in 1946 with my father, Wes Blackburn. He had such an impact on me in teaching me about living, surviving, working and having good moral values.

I wrote my book, “Kneebockers,” to honor my father and what he did for me. He died on Easter Sunday morning in 1976 of a heart attack.

To start this story, I would like to reflect back to 1949, our first
summer on the Klamath River. We ended up staying all summer at Shorty’s
Camp. My younger brother Wes Jr. had come out to be with us for a short
time.

Dad was quite a hunter but he also loved fishing, particularly ocean
fishing for salmon and rock fish. He purchased a 16-foot ocean boat with
a covered front deck and an inboard well for the outboard motor.

We woke up one morning and Dad said, “Boys, we are going ocean
fishing up at False Klamath Cove near Wilson Creek.” We loaded all our
stuff, including life jackets, and away we went for another adventure.

We arrived at Wilson Creek and pulled off from Highway 101 into a
parking lot where Wilson Creek entered the ocean. We unloaded the heavy
boat and pulled it down the beach toward the water. We were going to
launch it just south of numerous big rocks and it seemed to me that the
breakers were pretty rough. Dad assured us that we would do fine. Dad
laid out the plan: He would run the motor as soon as the water was deep
enough. Wes Jr. would sit forward of Dad.

We pushed off from the beach and Dad started rowing and then told me
to start the motor. I was turned partly away from the ocean ahead and as
I turned toward Dad, all I saw was a breaker. “Pour the coal to her,
son,” said Dad. We hit the breaker and made it, only to confront a
second and a third. We took on some water but were OK. Dad said, “We
made it, boys, and good job with the motor, son.”

We made it to the cove south of Wagon Park and started jigging for
rock fish. We started catching fish immediately and Dad was in seventh
heaven.

Wes Jr. and I both got seasick but we weathered the storm. We loaded
our fish sack with rockfish and Dad was entirely content. We had to land
in the cove below an old road where we could reload the boat back on
the truck and trailer. Another day with my father.

After Dad retired as a structural steelworker and welder, he fished
the ocean a lot in his 16-foot boat. He would fish for salmon or
rockfish with his hand gurdy with its tiny cable line and lead ball. He
loved the ocean. One day he shared with me that he had bought a 26-foot
lifeboat out of Portland, Ore., and it was being shipped down by truck.

He truly wanted to become a commercial fisherman. The boat arrived
and he had a location where he could park his house trailer and work on
the boat. It was a 26-foot double-ender and we gutted the inside. He got
ahold of an iron rail from the old Hobbs Wall Railroad and welded it as
an extra strong keel for the boat. He said, “If I run into Castle Rock,
the boat will win the battle.”

He bought a new Albin two-cylinder diesel for power and extended a shaft out of a rear seal to a new bronze propeller.

We put several coats of fiberglass all over the boat and built a
deck, wheelhouse and gaffing hatch to work from while fishing and a rear
hatch for ice and caught fish. On each side of the deck were cut three
skuppers to let water run back overboard. This boat was really built for
a one-man operation. We then painted the boat, which Dad named “Sea
Otter.”

It was time to take the maiden voyage. We hauled it to the boat ramp
and lowered it into the water. I could sense Dad’s excitement as we got
ready to push from the dock. He climbed aboard and started the diesel.
It purred like a little kitten and Dad said, “Push off son, we’re going
fishing.” I climbed aboard and we headed out into the harbor.

Dad said, “Here we go, son,” as he turned the steering wheel to the
right, but then the boat went left. He then turned the wheel left and it
went right. He turned to me and smiled and said, “Well, son, I guess I
got the chaindrive to the rudder backward. We both laughed. Dad said
that he would fix the problem later. He never did.

We went toward the lighthouse and made several tacks north and south
and caught several salmon. I got a little seasick, but I was not going
to let this spoil Dad’s day.

He was in the gaffing hatch and it had its own steering wheel,
throttle and forward and reverse gear shift. We headed into the old
harbor and Dad was getting ready to back into the rear buoy and anchor
when I asked him, “Dad, which way do you have to turn the wheel in order
to back in this way?” “Well, son,” he said, “we’re going to have to see
which way it goes.”

We laughed and we gave each other a father-and-son hug. The boat that went the wrong way was born.